Devotion Of An Angel
by Rosie85
Summary: Four weeks after the disaster at the Populaire, Christine rethinks the choice she made the night of Don Juan, and sets out to find the man who called himself the angel of music EC Rating will go up at the end
1. Epiphany

DISCLAIMER I do not own anything related to The Phantom of the Opera. All belong to the ALW

Author note: This story was formally titled THE MUSIC OF MY HEART. I started this story in the winter of 2005 and never finished it. My phantom obsession has been revived by the release of LOVE NEVER DIES and I am back to finish this story, but first, I am revising ALL CHAPTERS and content. Hopefully this story will be much better the second time around. ENJOY and please review :)

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_"You alone can make my song take flight. It's over now the music of the night!" Picking up a candelabra, the Phantom of the Opera smashed all the mirrors that surrounded his world of darkness. Behind the last smashed mirror there existed a tunnel. Taking one last look at his home, taking in all the memories of Christine, the infamous Opera Ghost hid in the darkness as the mob approached his home._

_Angry shouts and smashing happened then, and it took all of the phantom's strength to not make his appearance known. His concealment did not last long. It was only moments after the mob appeared that a member located his passage and was able to overpower him, and drag him out of the tunnel by the neck with his own Punjab lasso._

Christine shot up in bed, eyes wide and tearful, her breathing heavy; sweat drenched her neck and back, and her limbs were tangled in her sheets. Her breathing steadied as she noted the familiar surroundings of the guest room she was currently occupying. The sun had just started to rise and Christine heard the De Chagny grandfather clock strike seven. Knowing that she would not be able to fall back asleep, Christine crept from her bed and walked over to her dresser, lifted her pitcher and filled her basin. Dipping her hands in the cool water, Christine cupped up one, then two, then three handfuls of water.

After the third splash, she held her hands to her face and relished in the cool feel of the water as it seeped down her chest and back, soaking through the back and front of her nightgown. Picking up her hand towel, Christine dried off her face and wiped off the remnants of the tears that had spawned during the latest nightmare. The same dream that had been plaguing her every sleep for the last four weeks.

Still shaking from the memory of her dream, Christine emerged from her room thirty minutes later, clean and fresh, dressed in a lavender lace gown. She made her way down to the dining room where she hoped she'd find Raoul She found him at the head of the dining room table, a paper in one hand and his coffee in the other. "Raoul," she said softly, doing her best to cover up the sadness in her voice.

He looked up from his paper and smiled, then frowned as he noted her forlorn expression. Setting down his coffee and paper, he stood up and walked over to Christine and wrapped her in his arms, "The nightmare again?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Christine answered with a muffled yes, and looked up from his chest, " I can't stop thinking about it.... about _him_."

Raoul pulled back suddenly, his hands now resting on her shoulders, "Don't give him another thought, Christine," he said sternly, "I'm still in shock that he let you leave with me, and I'm terrified that he will come back, and I will wake up one morning and find you gone."

"Raoul, he won't come back"

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am... I think I've hurt him more deeply then anyone can possibly imagine." Raoul looked at her strangely and pulled away from her, "That's why I still feel that I need this... _closure,_" she said carefully, "I don't know if he's dead or hurt, or if he's gone, but I can't rest or move on until I know for sure."

"Christine, we've been through this. I'm not allowing you to go back to the Populaire. Besides, even if you could navigate yourself through the wreckage, how do you plan on making it across the lake?"

"I don't know, Raoul!" She yelled louder then what was necessary.

"Christine, I know you're terrified but I won't have you wasting away over madman... You should be busying yourself with wedding plans. This is supposed to be a happy time; our wedding is only two weeks away." He gave her a hopeful smile but it did nothing to change Christine's forlorn expression, "You do still want to marry me, right?" He said with a nervous laugh.

Christine closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, then looked into Raoul's eyes, "I.... Yes?" She said suddenly unsure.

"Good!" Raoul said with relief, apparently not noticing the uncertainty in her voice. He pulled her to him again and kissed her forehead, "I'll send word to my mother and sister to come here tomorrow. They'll want to help you in anyway they can." He walked back over to the table and picked up his saucer, and downed the rest of his coffee, "Well, I'm off. I will be in Paris all day meeting with Firmin and Andre. I should be home by suppertime." He leaned down and kissed Christine's cheek, "Try and get outdoors today. It will do you good to take in the sun."

Christine smiled and nodded obediently as he left the dining room.

The outdoors brought her littler joy, and when she came across a bush of brilliant red roses, her tears came back. Taking a rose from the bush, Christine walked back in to the house and made her way to the ballroom, where stashed away in the corner, was the De Chagny Baby Grand.

Christine seated herself at the piano and lay the rose next to her. She ran her fingers across the keys, and then placed them in position and began the first few notes to her favorite Swedish lullaby. She closed her eyes as she continued to play, picturing in her head a time long ago when she and her father would dance to this song: Christine standing on his toes as her father stepped from side to side and back and forth.

Her memories then shifted back thirteen years in the past. She was in her father's room at his Parisian hotel. Her father had been on tour in France and he and Christine were concluding the tour at the Populaire. They had been there a week when he was suddenly stricken with Pneumonia. The scene in her father's room played on: her father promising to send her the Angel of Music, him giving her one last kiss before he died, and Christine sobbing and screaming for her papa to open his eyes. Madame Giry was in the room, and she came up behind Christine and wrapped her arms around her, doing her best to comfort the little girl as tears too streamed down her own face.

Eyes still closed, Christine continued to play in to the transition of the lullaby. Her memories continued. Her sleeping seven year old self was being lifted from her father's bedside by a teenage boy dressed all in black. The boy was being instructed by Madame Giry, who then lead him out of the hotel and across the street into the Populaire. She lead him in to her private quarters where he placed Christine on the bed adjacent from little Meg Giry, who had been per playmate for the last week. The boy tenderly tucked Christine in to the bed and lovingly ran a hand over her head before he walked from her bedside. Madame Giry spoke to him then, "Merci, Erik." He smiled sadly as he took one more longing look at Christine before he vanished from the room.

It was then that Christine, back in the ballroom, realized that the boy had only made half of his face visible. Christine came back to the present, her eyes shot open as she inhaled deeply and exhaled just as quickly. Her eyes were wet with tears for the fourth time that morning. More forgotten memories suddenly came flooding back to her: the day after her father's death she knelt in the Populaire chapel and cried to God and to her father. Why had he left her, and where was the Angel of Music that was now supposed to watch over her?

She had returned to the chapel the next day to light another candle for her father. It was when she started to pray that the soft voice of the angel of music began to sing, "Christine, Christine, do not be afraid. For I am hear to watch over you now." He continued to sing sweetly to her and listened to her tears and fears and promised that he would always be watching over her, and if she ever needed him, all she had to do was come to the chapel and pray.

Christine had gone to the chapel nearly everyday after that, and each day that she did, the angel of music was there too, singing comforting words, and on occasion, playing a violin. Most nights before she fell asleep, the angel would appear and sing her lullabies and wish her sweet dreams and comforts. Her angel of music never left her, and for the past three years he'd been training her to be a Prima Donna.

"Erik." Christine said. _HE_ had been there since the beginning. Not an angel or a phantom; a boy, and now a man. Always caring and comforting, never abandoning her, and always keeping whatever promises he made to her.

The first night she laid eyes on him she was awestruck, forgetting that the captivating and intimidating man that walked her to the depths of the opera, was the angel of music who'd been her closet friend and confidant since she arrived at the Populaire. Nothing that had happened, or could happen, would ever change that. Not the interruption of _Il Muto_, the murder of Joseph Buquet, the duet during _Don Juan_, her brief abduction, or the near death of Raoul.

Christine recalled her last encounter with him. Tears were streaming down his face as be bore his heart and soul to her, the two things other then his music that he only ever had to offer her, "Christine, I love you." Regret and disgust washed over her as she remembered the empty response she'd given him: placing the stolen diamond ring in his hand before she hurried away to Raoul in the waiting Gondola.

How ungrateful and distant she had been. Since seeing him, she never once thanked him. What he must think of her. Her mind then went to the nightmare she'd been having the last four weeks: her and Raoul floating away, the smashing of mirrors, and then the frightful site of the mob tying up her angel and hanging him from the cavern ceilings.

Engulfed now with fear and nausea, Christine bolted from the ballroom and sprinted up the stairs to her bedroom. Once there Christine pulled her trunk from it's closet and began piling in her clothing and what little possessions she had in the room. She made her way into the bathroom and grabbed her remaining possessions and ran back in to her bedroom, where she collided with Raoul.

Raoul! In her hurriedness she'd almost forgotten him.

"Christine, What's going on? What are you doing?!" He asked with a panicked expression.

Christine bent down and began picking up the toiletries she'd dropped, "I can't stay here anymore, Raoul, I have to leave." She choked back her sobs and avoided his eyes.

"What?! Christine?!," he walked over to her and grabbed hold over her shoulders and faced her towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Calm down, okay? What happened?"

Christine took a few breaths and then cried, "I must find him, Raoul. I'm sorry, but I cannot go on another moment without knowing the truth. I NEED to see him!" Tears were streaming down her face as she continued to pile in her possessions in to her trunk.

Raoul pulled away and stepped back as if he'd been burned, "So this is where your heart truly lies?!" The bitterness dripped from his voice, "I thought you loved ME, Christine! Not that disgusting creature! Five months ago you were BEGGING me to save you from the darkness and keep you in the light. What's changed?! Now you want to return to that filthy, deformed, lunatic?!"

Christine's hand made stinging contact with Raoul's right cheek, "How dare you!" She yelled, her face red and fists now clenched at her side, "Don't you EVER speak of him like that again! He was there for me when I had no one else in the world! Everything I am today I owe to him. He gave me everything, and in return, all he wanted was my love and for me to sing! I'm ashamed that I only gave him voice. He deserves more then that." She turned from him and bent down and latched up her trunk.

"Christine, you're going to throw away your life because of what you think HE deserves?! What about us?"

"I'm sorry, Raoul, but I can't marry you now. I need some time to myself. I need to find him and confront him and get this all sorted out. Until that happens, I cannot devote myself to you... I'm sorry."

Christine bent down once more and grabbed the handle to her trunk and began to drag it from the room. Raoul stopped her then, placing his hand on her wrist, "Christine, please don't do this," his face filled with fear and sadness, "Please, tell me what I can do to make this right! I'd do anything for you, Christine." Tears threatened to fall from his face.

Christine sniffled as tears fell from her eyes, "Let me go... Just like he did... Please, Raoul?" She looked down at her arm, and Raoul bent his head in defeat and released her wrist, "Thank you."

Christine continued to pull her trunk, but Raoul stopped her then and took hold of the trunk and carried it down to the front door, "Where will you go?" He asked somberly, avoiding her gaze.

"Paris. To Madame Giry's for the time being."

"Wait here. I'll have George bring around the carriage."

Ten minutes later Christine was being helped in to the carriage by Raoul. She kissed his cheek before he shut the door, "I'm sorry, Raoul. I never meant to hurt you. Please know, I still love you."

He looked up at her then, tears now falling from his eyes "But you're in love with him." He closed the carriage door and turned quickly, and without looking back, he made his way into the house and closed the front door.

The carriage lurched forward and Christine settled into her seat, where she pondered the possibility of the revelation that Raoul had just reveled to her.


	2. Mother Knows Best

AN Thank you kindly for those who've reviewed and those who are reading. I look forward to your comments.

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Christine instructed George to a flat on Rue Leroux, and was relieved to see several lights on inside the tiny apartment. George assisted her up the staircase with her trunk and he bid her farewell as she knocked on the massive ebony door. Moments passed and Christine was soon greeted at the door by her surrogate mother, who answered the door with a look of curiosity, "Christine, Mon Cherie!" Madame Giry ushered Christine into her home and wrapped her in a tight embrace, "What are you doing here?" she asked as she pulled away.

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly, not knowing where to begin. Mme Giry noticed her hesitation as well as the red puffiness around her eyes; she'd been crying. When Christine began to shake, Mme Giry ushered her in to the living room and into a chair in front of the roaring fire, "Christine, is everything all right?"

"No," she answered bluntly, "I need your help." Christine gave her a look of somber desperation.

Mme Giry's eyes widened. Knowing Christine for so many years, she knew instantly to what she was referring, "O, Christine!" she said, her voice soft, but full of both disappointment and astonishment. She then took in the site of Christine a second time: her disheveled appearance, and the recollection of the heaviness of the trunk that she had dragged in for her, "Where's Raoul?"

"Where's Erik?"

They spoke in unison, both surprised at the other's inquiry.

"Christine!" she yelled this time causing Christine to jump in her seat, "You are such a child!"

Christine did not hide the hurt in her face, and she averted her eyes to the ground in self loathing, " Please, ma'ma-"

"I don't know where he is, Christine." Silence filled the room then, and both women stared into the fire.

Finally Madame Giry broke the silence with a sigh, "He left France the day after the fire." A whimper escaped Christine. Though Erik had let her go that night, she had thought that he'd always be near, lurking in the shadows, keeping watch over her.

"Do not fret, Christine," Mme Giry knelt down at her side and held her hand, "It's for the best. I know you feel guilty about what occurred, but believe me, you are far better off in the care of Raoul then you would be with Erik."

"How do you know?" she asked softly as she looked up at Mme. Giry, "Yes, Raoul loves me and can provide for me amply, but can he give me everything I need?"

Silence fell between the two women again as both took in the words of Christine's sudden epiphany.

"I need music, ma'ma.... I need _his _music. You and I both know that Raoul will never let me perform again.... Not after what happened; he's too afraid that it could happen again."

"Christine-" Mme Giry began, but was cut off,

"What kind of life can I have without music, when it's so much apart of who I am and who I''ll always be?"

Mme Giry paused before answering. Then sighed, knowing that there was only one answer to give, "The same kind of life that he will have without you, Cherie." Christine looked at her inquisitively, and Mme Giry continued, "Empty and listless."

Christine nodded and silent tears streamed down her face, "If I go to him, ma'ma, will he forgive me?"

"I can't say for sure, my sweet. I've known Erik for nearly seventeen years and I still cannot predict what he will say or do."

"I don't think I could forgive me. All the things he did for me over the years, all the music and companionship, and in return, all he wanted was my love, and I ran from him."

"Do you love him, Christine?"

"I love his music, ma'ma. I loved the angel that watched over me and comforted me... But, him?..." Christine trailed off not knowing what to say.

"Yes, Christine. Him. Erik."

"I've not been given a chance to love_ Erik__._ I don't know _him."_

"And you're willing to risk a future with Raoul: his love and devotion, for a man you're not even sure you love, or may even come to love?"

"I-..." Christine paused, thought for a moment, and started again, "I love Raoul. How could I not? But I have this ache for Erik.... To see him again, and I cannot be a wife to Raoul until I've confronted Erik. I need to see him again, to know if I made the right choice or not."

"You're playing with fire, Christine, and I don't see how someone will not be burned by your inevitable decision."

"I know, ma'ma, but I have to do this."

"Very well. You may stay here for the time being. As I said before I do not know where Erik has gone but he promised to write as soon as he's settled, and Erik never breaks a promise. I expect word any day now."

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A week passed and there was still no word from Erik. Christine found herself waiting by the door everyday at two for the post to arrive. On the eleventh day of her stay in Paris, Christine worked up the courage to return to the Populaire. Using directions given to her by Mme. Giry, Christine was able to locate the secret passage that Erik had used to escape the night of the fire. Carrying a knapsack and a single lantern, Christine navigated down the dark spiraling staircase, and through the tunnel hidden behind the mahogany curtain.

She walked through the curtain and felt the cold air of the cavern wash over her. A deafening silence now filled Erik's once throne of music. She held up the lantern high and out and took in the wreckage. Papers were strewn about and the Organ had been smashed. Christine was able to find two candelabras and candles still intact. Using the fire from her lantern, she lit the three candles and brought a small glimmer of light into the cavern.

There was not much to salvage. Broken glass and wood littered the floor, as well as several shredded papers of music. The musical monkey box was gone, probably stolen by the mob, as well as her costume from Don Juan.

Christine found a back room hidden behind the swan bed. Inside held dozens of sketches of herself at different points of her life. All the drawings were either shredded or burned. Christine was lucky to find only one sketch left untouched. It was a great likeness of herself: Christine looking down and smiling into a rose.

Christine felt pleased that she was able to salvage the drawing as well as several sheets of musical composition that had miraculously gone untouched. She packed all in her knapsack and then headed for the hidden tunnel. She took one last look at the cavern and then turned, leaving Erik's world of darkness for the last time.

Christine arrived back at Mme. Giry's flat an hour later and found the madame sitting in her chair in front of the fireplace, a letter in her hand, and a sad smile on her face,

"He's in Verona."


	3. Verona

AN: Thank you to all those who've reviewed! They are a great source of motivation :) Please, keep 'em coming!

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According to his letter, Erik had traveled to Verona Italy, where he had secured a position as the new producer, and director for the city's famed opera house, _Arena Di Verona_. He had also purchased a small home a few blocks away from the opera house; Mme. Giry explained to Christine that Erik had a respectable fortune stashed away after years of collecting his 'salary' from the _Populaire's_ managers.

Two days after the letter arrived, Christine boarded a train on the outskirts of Paris. The train would take her in to Milan, and from there, she would have to find a coach to take her the rest of the way into Verona. Mme. Giry and Meg escorted her to the station, and when the final boarding call was announced the Girys both embraced Christine in a tight hug and wished her luck on her journey.

As Christine pulled away, Mme. Giry handed her a velvet bag which contained roughly 200 francs, enough money, the madame hoped, for food and board, and if needed, enough to get back to Paris. Christine hugged and kissed her maman one last time and boarded the train.

Her journey aboard lasted a day, and Christine spent most of it asleep. It was the first time in five weeks that she was not plagued with nightmares.

She arrived in Milan feeling refreshed, and was fortunate to find a hansom soon after her arrival, to take her all the way to Verona. The coach journey to Verona was less enjoyable. On her last day in Paris Christine had decided that when she arrived in Verona, she would immediately seek employment with the _Arena Di Verona_.

When the coach lurched forward, officially beginning the final steps to Erik, a sudden onset of nausea swept over her; she spent the first part of the journey fidgeting and biting her nails.

Five hours in to the journey, after she'd eaten and relaxed, she spent the rest of her time leafing through the compositions that she had salvaged from the _Populaire_. Christine looked through each piece, taking the time to read and sing each note, picturing in her head Erik conducting a grand orchestra, and herself on stage, gracefully dancing only for him.

The last piece she came across was a single sheet that was both incomplete, and had the most revisions out of all the pieces. It was also the only piece that had a title: _La berceuse de Christine (_Christine's Lullaby). She read through the notes and sang each softly; it was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Christine's heart fluttered and her cheeks reddened, humbled by the captivating song written solely for her. She closed her eyes again and continued humming the notes of her lullaby. It was only a few moments after, that she found another peaceful slumber......

* * *

_Knock Knock Knock _

_"_Mam'selle?" Christine's eyes shot open and she took in her surroundings," Mam'selle, we've arrived in Verona." She looked over to the carriage door and greeted the driver, "Good morning, Lorenzo."

"Morning, Miss Daae. Where to from here?"

"To the _Arena Dumos_, please."

Lorenzo climbed back to the top of the carriage, picked up his reins and directed his horses to the opera house.

They approached the _Arena Di Verona; _a massive limestone amphitheatre, with an outer structure designed much like Rome's Colosseum. They passed the Arena and the carriage pulled up to the _Dumos, _a white marble building with a high staircase and roman columns, located at the rear of the _Arena._

Christine exited the carriage and asked Lorenzo to please wait for her. She entered the building and was instructed by an usher to the managers offices.

Their door was ajar and Christine saw two men inside, one sitting at his desk chair, the second with his back to the door facing the first man.

Christine knocked gently on the door, "Pardon me, signors."

They turned and ushered her inside. Christine stepped in and opened her mouth to speak, but the younger of the two men spoke first, "It can't be Christine Daae?!." His voice surprised and his face smiling.

The older man turned then and took her in a second time, "_Mademoiselle_ Christine Daae, Anthony, and yes, I believe she is. Please, come sit mam'selle." He walked over to the front of the desk and held out his hand, "I'm Joseph Castarinie, and this is my nephew, Anthony. It's a pleasure, Mam'selle." He kissed Christine's hand and held out a chair for her, and Christine sat down.

"You know me, signors?"

"How could we forget the famous Christine Daae, " said Anthony, "My uncle and I were fortunate enough to see your performance in _Hanniba_l last spring. May I say what an absolute privilege it was to hear you sing. "

Christine blushed and looked down at her hands. "Thank you. It's very kind of you to remember me." She looked up and smiled back.

The older gentleman then spoke, "We could not forget such an angelic voice. How lucky the_ Populaire _was to have you, and how fortunate for the musical community that you escaped the disaster... Such a tragedy. Now, what brings you to Verona?"

"I've come to sing." she said bluntly.

"All the way from Paris?" inquired Joseph.

"Until the Populaire is rebuilt, I'm in need of work. I thought the renowned_ Arena Di Verona _would be perfect. That is, if you'll have me, signors."

"We'd be delighted, mam'selle, to grant you employment," said Joseph, "though, you should still give a formal audition to our producer. A Monsieur Erik Destler, from Paris actually. Are you familiar?"

"I cannot say for sure, signor." Christine said, doing her best to hold back the sudden flush in her face.

"No matter. I'm sure he will appreciate a singer of your caliber. Such a peculiar man, though, eh, Anthony?" he turned towards his nephew.

"Quite," replied Anthony, "but a musical genius, and a professional none the less."

"So, mam'selle, are you up for an audition first thing tomorrow? Lets say 8 am?" asked Joseph.

"Absolutely, signor. Thank you very much." Christine smiled and stood up.

"Very well," Joseph clapped his hands together and walked over to his desk located on the opposite side of the room, "do you require board while you're here?"

"Yes, actually. For the time being. I was hoping you could recommend a suitable hotel."

"A hotel won't be necessary. We have a very nice suite that is now vacant." He spoke while shuffling through his desk. He picked up a pamphlet and started leafing through it, "Ah! Here we are. The Prima Suite; room 45A. Our lead soprano Lenora Ferrario purchased her own home several weeks ago and is no longer in need of it. It's yours, if you'd like."

"I'd like that very much. Thank you both so much for your hospitality." Christine walked over to Anthony and then Joseph, and shook both their hands.

"It is our pleasure, mam'selle," replied Anthony, "have Antonio show you to the Prima Suite once you retrieve your luggage, and we shall both see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, again. I promise to work very hard for you both."

"And we look forward to your contributions to our theater, mam'selle," replied Joseph, "now, with it being Sunday, our rehearsal theater should be vacant. I believe Monsieur Destler has gone home for the day, and he usually leaves the piano on the stage, and the doors to the house open. You're free to use them."

Christine thanked them both again and she left the office and headed towards the exit. She met Lorenzo at the curb and he helped her carry her trunk into the _Dumos._ She paid him handsomely for his services and bid him farewell.

Antonio met her at the entrance and took her trunk from her and led her down a long candlelit hall to the Prima Suite.

"There is a bathing room just next door, and there is a kitchen down this same hall and to the right." He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a key attached to a lavender ribbon, "The key to the room, mam'selle. Now, should you lose this, the managers do have another." He bowed to her then and bid her good night and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Antonio." She too bid him goodnight and entered her room, closing the door behind her.

Her new quarters were far superior to her rooms in the _Populaire._ The room she now occupied contained a queen four poster bed with a white and lavender canopy, matching sheets and a matching area rug that covered the majority of the room's marble floor. There was also a white vanity with several drawers and a mirror, a tall white armoire, and a small white writing desk. There were several candles around the room and a gaslit lamp on the bedside table.

Christine unpacked her trunk, hanging her dresses and rehearsal attire in the armoire, along with her corsets and chemises. She placed her shoes and ballet slippers in the bottom drawers and stood her trunk up in the corner of the room.

The hallway clock then struck 6 p.m. and Christine suddenly desired a hot bath.

* * *

Christine exited the bathing room almost two hours later, and entered her room, changing in to her nightgown and terry robe. She lit the candles around her room and retrieved Erik's music from her knapsack and exited her room again and headed for the theater.

Like Joseph Castarinie had said, the house doors were open. Christine entered, and walked up to the stage. She sat at the piano and placed her lullaby at the top and positioned her hands on the keys.

She played through what little of the song existed. She repeated it four times, each time, singing each note, her voice ringing throughout the theater. When she finished, her eyes were full of tears. The lullaby was beautiful; more captivating then what she had heard in the carriage.

She wiped her eyes and went about practicing her scales. She rehearsed her aria from _Hannibal_ twice, stopping several times to repeat certain measures where she had missed a note, or stumbled over a word. When the theater clock struck ten, Christine picked up Erik's music and headed back to her room.

Locking her door behind her, Christine blew out her candles, and snuggled underneath her covers, placing Erik's music on the nightstand.

She reached up and turned off her bedside light.

Closing her eyes, Christine tried to find sleep quickly, doing her best to not think about what would be happening in ten short hours: Erik's reaction to her sudden appearance in Verona.


	4. Face To Face

All was quiet in Verona as the morning sun began to peek at the horizon. On Via Pellicciai there existed a row of upscale, brick town-homes. At number 65 a light could be seen shinning bright through the window of the top most room. Inside the room the owner of home slept soundly, hunched over a pile of musical composition that lay strewn across a very large ebony desk.

The sound of the hallway clock striking six o'clock shook Erik Destler from his sleep, "Dammit," he mumbled as his drowsy eyes noted the surroundings of his music room. He had once again fallen asleep at his desk and would surely pay the price for his carelessness later in the day. He sat up and twisted his back from side to side, and heard one, then two, and three vertebrae crack in to place. He then did the same to his neck, taking his time to work out several cricks.

He stood up from his desk and walked across the room and picked up his black half mask that lay discarded on the floor. He existed the music room and headed down the hall to his bathing room. He set his mask on a side table and then stripped himself of his clothing and lowered himself into his large porcelain tub, which he had filled with soap and water the night before.

The cold water woke every sense in his body and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he scrubbed his face and body vigorously. He was out of the tub no more then ten minutes later. To him there was something invigorating about bathing in cool water: it always seemed to be the cure for an exhausted mind and body, and it did wonders for his senses, heightening and strengthening them, which had always been useful to his life in the catacombs.

Erik picked up his mask and walked in to his bedroom, hung his towel over it's hook, and picked out a black suit and green vest. He dressed himself and fastened his black half mask to his face. Before he fled Paris, he had taken care to retrieve his mask from Meg Giry and then painted it with a fine, shining black color. He felt the new mask made him appear somewhat normal, where his white mask always made him appear too ghostly and frightening.

Erik returned to his music room and piled his compositions and notes into his satchel and then shut off the light and headed downstairs and out of his house. The sky was a beautiful combination of pinks and oranges and Erik breathed in the warm summer air as he walked down his street.

He arrived at that the Dumos twenty minutes later and spotted an elderly woman peddling a cart of fruit. Erik picked out the largest of the red apples and paid her swiftly and continued up the steps of the Dumos. He entered the building and spotted Antonio as he existed the house,

"How do you do, Antonio?"

"Very well, monsieur," he smiled politely and gave a slight bow.

"You're up early this morning."

"No earlier then any other day, monsieur, though this morning the new singer needed entrance into the house. It must have locked by accident last night." He gave another nod and continued on his way before Erik could inquire further.

Erik walked to the house entrance and turned the handle of the door, and when it cracked open, his ears were instantly filled with the soft sound of a piano and a voice that he had been so desperately trying to forget,

"_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye_,"

His eyes widened and his heartbeat quickened as he stepped in to the auditorium, catching the door before it slammed shut,

"_Remember me once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try_,"

_Christine_. There she was. Sitting at the piano, her back to the audience seats, and singing the song that had brought her fame. Erik was in too much shock to react. Her voice washed over him, warming him and bringing a slight smile to his face. He slowly walked down the aisle and towards the stage,

"_When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment spare a thought for me_."

She continued through the next few measures, playing the notes and humming along.

Erik was now standing at the edge of the stage completely enthralled,

"_We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea_

_But if you can still remember stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the things which might have been_

_Think of me_

_Think of me wakening silent and resigned_

Imagine me trying to hard to put you from my mind

_Recall those days look back on all those time_

_Think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day that I won't think of you_!"

Her voice rang throughout the theater bringing chills to Erik, but her note was cut short as she suddenly coughed violently. The sudden stop of her singing also brought Erik out of his trance and back to reality.

_Christine!_ What on_ earth_ is she doing there?

He watched her take a sip of water and heard her clear her throat, extinguishing the tickle in the back of her esophagus, which she would often get when she was first learning to sing.

"You're inhaling at the wrong spots again."

Christine let out a short scream and her body jumped, startled at the unexpected voice.

She turned slowly and met Erik's piercing gaze.

Both said nothing for what seemed like hours. The only sounds that could be heard were their steady breaths as they stared intently into each other's eyes.

It was Erik who broke the silence, "What are you doing here, Christine?"

His tone was calmer then what she had expected . Rather then cynical, it was almost a tone of annoyance.

Christine opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of the auditorium door slamming shut. Both Erik and Christine looked back to see their employers approaching the stage,

"Ah, Monsieur Destler," spoke Anthony Castarine as he and his uncle reached Erik at the foot of the stage, "I see you've already met Mamselle Daae."

Erik turned his gaze back towards Christine, "Yes," he replied and kept his gaze on her, "what is she doing here?"

"Why, auditioning, Monsieur," replied Anthony with a chuckle.

"What on earth for?" Erik turned his gaze back to the Castarines, his voice and face filled with frustration.

"Just a formality, Monsieur," replied Joseph, "Mamselle Daae arrived yesterday in need of employment. With the recent destruction of the _Opera Populaire,_ and Anthony and I being very familiar with her talents we hired her on the spot."

"I see," replied Erik as he turned his gaze back towards Christine, who was doing her best to avoid his eyes, "no audition is necessary, signors. I've heard enough already."

"Wonderful!" clapped Anthony, "I'm sure you were most impressed with what you heard."

"On the contrary, signors," Erik kept his gaze on Christine until she finally lifted her hurt felt eyes at him, "I've no use for her."

"O, do not be so pessimistic, Monsieur," said Joseph, doing his best to lighten the mood of the room, "the girl has wonderful attributes and I'm sure she'll adjust to the Arena's performance styles with little strife."

"I'm not arguing attributes, Signor," Erik said angrily, doing his best to keep the volume of his voice low, "I'm arguing practicality. We already have a lead soprano. Lenora Ferrario is a fine leading lady, and we have enough people in the chorus line and ballet. She's of no use to me."

"Be that as it may, Monsieur Destler," Joseph Castorine raised his voice and held his tone of authority, "Mamselle Daae stays. Let her audition for the fall production. Auditions are tomorrow, are they not? I expect to see her with the rest of the auditions tomorrow."

Erik gritted his teeth and held his temper as he replied, "Very well, signor," he said stiffly and turned away from them and headed towards the steps of the stage, "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have important work to do before rehearsals start." He disappeared backstage and a moment later a door was heard slamming shut.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mamselle," spoke Joseph when he noted tears in Christine's eyes, "as we said before he is rather peculiar, and as you can see, prone to anger and impatience. I'm sure everything will be fine in a couple of hours should you like to join the entire cast for rehearsals."

"No," Christine said hurriedly, "I think I've done enough," she turned back to the piano and gathered her music and headed off the stage, "I will be attending auditions tomorrow, though. Thank you both again for your kindness." Christine then hurried out of the auditorium and back to her room.

Anthony and Joseph stood in silence, both befuddled by what had occurred, "Most unusual, wouldn't you say uncle?"

"Quite. Almost as if they know each other. I've never known Monsieur Destler to be so abrupt."

"Shall I speak with him?"

"I think that best. I will look in on Mamselle Daae."

Joseph existed the auditorium as Anthony made his way up the stage steps and behind the curtains towards the backstage offices.

* * *

Erik reached his office and slammed the door behind him, "Why?! WHY, GOD?!" picking up an ink bottle, he threw it against the door, and watched as the glass shattered and the black ink spilled down onto the floor. "Why? Why is she here?!"

Anthony Castarine approached the maestro's office and became concnerned when he heard the sound of smashing glass. He knocked hurriedly at the door,

"Who is it?!" demanded Erik.

"Monsieur, it's Anthony."

No response.

"Monsieur? Monsieur Destler, is everything all right?!"

Erik opened the door suddenly shielding the entrance of the office with his body, "Absolutely, signor. Just a little under the weather, and rather clumsy this morning."

Anthony casted a glance over Erik's shoulder and noticed the broken picture frame in the background, "I see," he returned his gaze back to Erik, "I just wanted to be sure that you are not at all uncomfortable with my uncle and I bringing on Mamselle Daae. I know we put you on the spot this morning."

"Not at all, Anthony. I shall apologize to her later for my abruptness; now, if you'll excuse me." He closed the door then and Anthony's face bounced back at the force of it,

"Most peculiar," he said as he left backstage.

Back in the office Erik stood facing a wall mirror, his hands bracing on the sides of an end table. He stared intently as his reflection, doing his best to level his breathing. Too many questions were running through his head: _What is she doing here? How did she get here? Where is that fop of a fiance? Did she know I'd be here? Has she changed her mind?_

"No!" Erik yelled as he smashed his fist into the mirror, silencing all the questions in his head, and cutting the knuckles of his right hand. He held up the hand and pulled out two shards of broken mirror and then walked over to the porcelain bowl of water that he kept in his office. He dipped his hand into the bowl and washed the remnants of blood off of his hand. He then wrapped it in the white towel that hung on the wall.

He sat at his desk and held his head with his left hand and pondered what he would say to Christine. He would not dare to hope that Christine had come to Verona for him. He deduced that this was just some sort of strange coincidence, and that he would hurriedly urge her as far away from him as possible. There was no earthly way that she would ever forgive him for the monstrous things he had subjected her to.

He would speak with her; show her that she would be better off away from him... That is, if she were still in the building. Perhaps she was so appalled and shocked by his presence that she darted from the Dumos the moment he left the auditorium.

He stood up then and removed the towel from his hand and was pleased to see that he had successfully stopped the bleeding. He ran his hands over his head and smoothed out his hair, straightened his suit and proceeded to pick up the mess in his office.

At ten o'clock he left his office and headed for the stage, hoping to god that Christine would not be in attendance.

* * *

Christine did attend. Though, not anywhere where Erik could see her. She sat in the very last row of the topmost balcony, where she watched the day's rehearsal.

She witnessed the perfect synchronized dancing of the ballerinas, all beautiful with their olive skin and long dark tresses. She was captivated by the perfect pitch of the chorus line, and she was most impressed with the leading soprano. From what Christine could tell, the woman was maybe a few years older then herself, and her voice was very good. Christine felt anger and jealousy boiling within her as she watched Erik's face as Lenora Ferrario sang.

She watched them all well into the day and by the time rehearsals concluded at five o'clock, Christine had dozed off in her seat. Sleep came easy to her after a restless night and a tiring two day journey.

She slept so deep that she did not stir when a pair of strong arms picked her up from her seat and carried her down five flights of stairs, and into her room.

She did not wake as she was gently placed on her bed, nor did she feel the soft lips that grazed her forehead, and the hand that ran lovingly down her cheek before placing a note on her bedside table.


	5. Confrantation

AN Thank you SOOO much to all of you who've reviewed and who've added me to your alert/ favorite list! It is a HUGE motivation for me :) Thank you, also, to those who continue to read my story. I hope you're all enjoying! Now, without further ado, here is chapter five!

* * *

Christine's eyes fluttered opened and her brow furrowed as she sat up in her bed. She brought a hand to her forehead and lifted a string of curls that had fallen out of place during her sleep. She hurriedly looked around her room, doing her best to comprehend if the morning events had actually happened. She then spotted a note propped up on her bedside table. She shuffled to the edge of her bed and hesitantly picked up the note and opened it:

_If you wake before 7 come backstage to my office. I leave at 7:30_.

The letter was not signed, but Christine knew it was from him. She glanced at her bedside clock; it read 6:45. Christine stood up and walked over to her porcelain dish and splashed cool water on her face; she then toweled off and sat at her vanity, rearranged her curls, then stood up and straitened her dress. She retrieved Erik's music collection from her desk; and with a stomach full of butterflies, she exited her room.

She arrived backstage five minutes later and stopped dead in her tracks. Her nerves suddenly got the best of her. The hands that held his music to her chest began to shake and her breathing and heart pace quickened. Christine did not know what to expect from him. She had already made up her mind that Erik's attitude towards her would be just as sour as it had been this morning. The funny thing about the whole situation was that she knew she deserved nothing short of his anger. What had she done to deserve any sort of understanding. She had after all taken everything from him, things he offered to her freely, and she in return, had given him nothing.

She wanted to change that now. She wanted to give him understanding, to thank him for what he'd done for her over the years, and to truly understand who was hiding behind the facade of the Angel Of Music. Christine closed her eyes and took in one deep breath as she carefully approached Erik's office door. She wasn't sure how long she stood at the door, but when she finally worked up the courage to lift her hand to knock, Erik's voice broke the silence, "You may come in."

Taking in one more deep breath, Christine turned the handle and entered Erik's office. She closed the door behind her and turned slowly towards him. Erik sat at his desk scribbling a note on a sheet of paper. When the door closed he set down his pen and looked up at Christine, "Have a seat," and he gestured to a chair in front of the desk.

With their eyes locked, Christine timidly approached the chair still clutching Erik's music to her chest.

"What do you have there?" he gestured as she sat down.

She glanced down at the music and looked back up at him as she lifted the music up and passed it over his desk, "I went back to the_ Populaire_ and found these," Erik looked at her curiously as he took hold of the music, "I thought you'd like to have them back."

His eyes softened as he leafed through the papers. He stopped when he came across his drawing of Christine and the lullaby he had written for her. He stared at them briefly, then hurriedly released them from his grasp and returned his eyes back to Christine, "You went back to the _Populaire_? Down to the catacombs?"

"Yes, I-" Christine's words were cutoff as tears filled her eyes.

She wiped them away quickly and opened her mouth to continue but Erik cut her off, "Foolish girl," he said annoyingly, "did you expect the mob to be merciful?"

"I had to see for myself," she said carefully.

"You saw, Christine," he said flatly,"and now you're here. What are you doing here? Don't tell me you came all the way to Italy just to return the music," he said with a sarcastic laugh.

"No.. I've been with Madame Giry the last two weeks. I waited until your letter came. I left Paris three days ago."

"That does not answer my question, Christine," he said impatiently, "what are you doing here?"

"I came here to sing," she said plainly.

"Christine, you can sing anywhere." he said matter-of-factly, "why _here_?"

"The night my father died," Christine said, hurriedly changing the subject, hoping to calm Erik's temper, "you carried me to the _Populaire_?"

"I-" Erik stopped himself, taken aback by her question. He had just about hurled an insult at her procrastination, but held his tongue as he looked into her longing eyes. He cleared his throat before responding, "yes," he answered quietly.

"And it was you who appeared in the chapel each day after that."

Her lovely chocolate orbs bared into his heart. As much as he wanted to push her away, to prevent himself from any further heartbreak, he could not deny her what she was seeking.

"Yes," he replied again, this time averting his eyes, as he suddenly became uncomfortable with her gaze.

"How old were you?" she asked softly.

Erik looked back at her and inhaled deeply before responding, "I was fifteen."

"Why?" Christine asked hurriedly. Erik looked up and met her gaze, "Why did you do it?"

"Christine, I don't see the importance of dragging up ancient history," Erik said tiredly.

"It's important to me," Christine said with pleading eyes, "please?" she asked.

Erik closed his eyes and let out a defeated sigh. He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers before he continued, "When I first heard you in the chapel, your tears cut into me. I had never known anyone in the world to feel the loneliness and pain that I had felt as a child. You were just as alone as I was, and you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I wanted to help you; to take away your pain. I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you what you so desperately prayed for."

He opened his mouth to continue but Christine stopped him, "Thank you." she said hurriedly.

Erik looked up at her, confusion plain across the unmasked side of his face, "Thank you for what you did."

"You're welcome," he said quietly

Silence again fell upon them and newly sprung tears began falling from Christine's face. She wiped at them hurriedly not wanting to show weakness in front of Erik. He seemed to understand this, but instead of turning a blind eye to her tears, he stood from his chair and walked over to where Christine sat and handed her the handkerchief from his vest pocket. Christine muttered a soft thank you as she accepted the gesture and wiped her eyes and cheeks.

When she seemed to have gotten a hold of her emotions Erik cleared his throat and continued speaking, "What now, Christine? You still have not answered my question. Why here?"

"It's your music I came for."

"My music," he said plainly.

"It was my salvation... Don't you see? It's always been your music that I've needed."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Christine," he said sarcastically,"but there is still one problem."

"What?" she asked.

"Raoul De Chagny," he said with gritted, "you've come all the way to Italy. Alone, I presume? What of your engagement?"

"I-" Christine closed her mouth not sure where to begin. This was the part of the confrontation that she had been dreading the most.

"Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Everything is on hold," she said carefully.

"On hold until what? Until you've ridden yourself of the guilt of what you did to me? Until you've made peace with me?" His voice had risen and Christine was suddenly filled with fear at his temper.

Erik towered over her, and though Christine was now looking down at the floor, she could feel Erik's eyes bearing down on her, "Christine, look at me!" he demanded.

She did not move, and in his anger, he knelt down in front of her and took hold of her shoulders and gave her a quick shake, causing Christine to give a short scream as her eyes were forced to meet his, "do you love him?" he yelled.

"Yes!" she cried loudly as she kept her eyes locked on his.

"Then you don't belong here, Christine," he said angrily, "you love him; not me, and I cannot have you near me if that is the case. You need to leave."

He sprung from his feet then and walked over to the door and opened it.

When he turned, Christine was beside him, her face full of rage. She reached out and took hold of the door and slammed it shut. The slamming caused Erik to jump inwardly.

"I don't know you, don't you understand that?" she yelled.

"What do you mean, you stupid girl? You've known me your whole life!" he said aggressively.

"Not _you._ _You_ are not the angel of music!'

"They're one in the same!" he yelled back.

"They are not!" Christine screamed as angry tears cascaded down her cheeks, "I know nothing about you! _You _have always hid behind your mask; behind the name Angel Of Music. I came here so I could come to know and understand the man behind the facade. The man whose music and devotion saved my life!"

Something inside Erik snapped then, and he tore his mask from his face and took hold of Christine again and backed her against the door, tightly holding her shoulders so she could not move her arms. Christine let out a shriek of pain and her tear filled eyes stared into Erik's enraged green ones, "This is Erik, Christine! Is this what you want? There was good reason for me remaining anonymous to you. Would you have had me as I am? Have you any knowledge of how much blood is on my hands? I let you go that night so you would not be condemned to the hell that I am destined for!" His face was now inches from hers, "Is this what you want, Christine? A murderer? The devil's child?"

Christine opened her mouth to respond but could not find her voice, "Answer me, Christine!" Erik yelled as he shook her again, "is Erik what you want?" he yelled, his tone sarcastic and full of venom.

With his face a mere inch from hers, Christine hurriedly closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in a tearful kiss.

The pressure of the kiss was light from both parties; both set of lips remained motionless. Though there was nothing happening with their lips there was much happening inside both of them. Erik felt heat and sensation move from his head, then to his heart, and finally, to the pit of his stomach. This kiss from Christine was vastly different from the one she had bestowed upon him five weeks ago. This kiss was not forced. It was honest and pure.

Christine pulled back from the kiss slowly. Erik opened his eyes to look at her, to hopefully see in her face the answer he secretly wished to hear. Alas, Christine's eyes were still closed, and Erik noticed the pink blush in her cheeks. With her eyes still closed, Christine let out a haggard breath as she relished in the sensations that ran through her body.

In that single kiss, Christine had her answer. She slowly opened her eyes and met Erik's gaze.

She carefully brought her hand to cup the disfigured side of his face, "Yes," she said softly.

Erik reached up and covered the hand that was holding his face. He gently brought the hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. He then released her hand from his grasp and bent his head down as he replaced his mask to his face.

He turned away from her and walked back to his desk and began packing music into his satchel. Christine's brow furrowed and she carefully walked to his desk and stood in front it.

"Erik?" she asked softly.

He kept his back to her as he continued shuffling through his papers, picking out the ones he still needed to work on, "If you truly wish to stay, Christine, you may," he finished packing his satchel and turned back to her then, "but if you wish to leave now I will understand."

He turned away from her again and began straightening the mess of papers on his desk.

"I'd like to stay," she answered softly.

Erik looked up and met her gaze, "Very well. Rehearsals start at nine o'clock tomorrow, and auditions for the fall production start at eleven."

He picked up his satchel and walked over to the door and opened it. He turned to Christine who was still standing at his desk, "Come, I escort you to your room."

Christine followed in obedience and together they exited backstage and silently walked through the auditorium, out its doors, and down the hall to the Prima suite.

When they reached her bedroom door Christine put her key in its lock and turned it slowly. The door clicked open and Christine turned the handle and entered her room. She turned back to Erik who still stood in the hall starring back at her.

Silence fell between them and Christine shuffled uncomfortably under Erik's gaze.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"You do what you came here to do; I'll do the same."

He turned from her then, but before he could take a step, Christine stopped him, "what did you come here for?"

Without meeting her eyes, Erik turned his head and spoke over his shoulder, "A second chance."

He turned his head back and continued walking down the hall. His footsteps soon died away and Christine heard the closing of the Dumos's entrance.

"Good night, Erik." she whispered as she closed the door to her room.


End file.
